He landed on the grass, his left leg buckling as his feet struck the earth. Yet, unlike Valeria, he managed to keep his balance,leaning into the tree for support as he muttered rude, pained things under his breath.
“Are you hurt?” Valeria gasped, closing the gap between them, hurrying to pull his arm around her shoulders. “Goodness, I am so very sorry. I should have held my tongue until you had climbed down.”
Duncan stared at her, saying nothing.
“Duncan?” she urged. “What is wrong? What hurts?”
A crease appeared between his eyebrows, his lips moving as if he were chewing his words before he spoke them. “Why did you ask me that?”
“What?”
“What you just said, two minutes ago—why did you say that?”
Immediately, she understood the confusion, a fresh bout of guilt twisting in her stomach as she realized what she had done. He could have been seriously injured because of her foolishness, saying such a thing while he was in the middle of climbing down a tree.
“It is what was written on the paper,” she explained, flustered, showing him the ‘treasure.’
He shifted his weight onto the foot that had not taken as much of the impact, his eyes narrowing as he read the golden paper. “Why on earth would that be the treasure?” He raised his gaze to her. “This is not it, Valery. The winning words were supposed to be:Seven Splendid Sausages Sizzling in the Sun.I just wanted to hear you say them.”
At that moment, someone cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the bewildered pair.
One hand holding a chunk of dripping ice wrapped in a cloth, Roger raised the other tentatively. “I believe that note is mine,” he said, in a sheepish voice that matched his red-cheeked face. “It was a final clue for Miss Maxwell; rather, a question that I have been meaning to ask.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Lord Campbell, I do not think this is appropriate,” Duncan said, the sharp ache in his chest almost as agonizing as the dull throb in his ankle. “Her father is not present. How can you propose marriage if her father is not here?”
He cursed himself for having nothing better to say, no reason more impactful to offer. Indeed, what right didhehave to speak of propriety? At least Roger was proposing marriage, rather than invitations to night-shadowed meetings, daring dances, and almost-kisses that provided no security to Valeria’s reputation and future.
“Her father has given his permission,” Roger replied awkwardly, his face the color of blackberry juice. With the block of ice rapidly melting in his grip, he looked to Valeria. “Miss Maxwell, might I request a moment alone with you?”
Duncan stared down at Valeria, his arm still around her shoulders. Instinctively, he tightened his hold, unwilling to relinquish her to that man.
“Valery…” he whispered, needing to gaze into those green eyes of hers, needing to see what she thought of such a proposal, needing to see some sign of distaste or dismissal.
But she would not look at him.
“Valery,” he repeated, his fingertips gently squeezing the peak of her shoulder. “You cannot do this.”
She finally met his gaze, but her obvious distaste was not aimed at Roger, embers smoldering in the black of her pupils. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I must go and speak with Roger.”
Duncan clenched his jaw so hard that a splinter of pain prickled up the right side of his face. He could not physically hold her there, forbidding her from going with Roger; she was free to do whatever she pleased, whether he liked it or not.
Beatrice, who had been loitering nearby throughout the excitement, like a spectator at a boxing match, chose that moment to step forward. “Lord Campbell, perhaps you should come with me.
My cousin will meet you in a moment, once His Grace has made sure she can walk. I think the Sun Room will suffice.” She weaved her arm through Roger’s. “My uncle will prefer it if thereis someone else in the room with you, and I am happy to act as chaperone.”
“I will await you, Miss Maxwell,” Roger said with a relieved smile, his chest puffing with a hopeful excitement that lit a fuse beneath Duncan’s dormant jealousy, exploding it awake.
Still clutching that blasted block of ice, Roger allowed himself to be pulled toward the manor—Duncan’smanor—where Beatrice all but shoved him through the terrace doors, into the Sun Room.
“He is not right for you, Valery,” Duncan swooped in without hesitation, turning her to face him. “What sort of respectable man would leave a lady with a bruised foot, wandering off without her? He has no mettle, Valery. He is too mild-mannered, too boring, too… unlike you. You need someone who challenges you, who excites you, who ensures that no two days will ever be the same and will certainly never be dull.”
She brushed off his hands, glaring up at him. “You have no right to cast judgment, Duncan. I have not asked for your intervention or your opinion, so do not give it.”
Her chest heaved with the force of her simmering anger. “Our lessons ended when you ended them, but, as you keep insisting that you have a debt to pay, allow me to ask for one last favor.”
“Name it,” he urged, folding his arms behind his back so he would not be tempted to touch her again.
